


Pīhoihoi

by nativehaole (sweeneybearsam)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, acknowledging Steve has PTSD dammit, mcdanno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 20:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16249541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeneybearsam/pseuds/nativehaole
Summary: Super short and probably shit. Wanted to touch on how the events of 9.01 MORE THAN LIKELY added to Steve’s PTSD, even if Lenkov will never ever acknowledge it. I’m not bitter, stop staring at me like that. Anyway. Danny anchors Steve, because you already know I’m trash. Don’t like it, don’t read. I warned you it’s mildly shippy, even though it could FOR SURE just be platonic because they act gay asf in the show and it’s dubbed being bros anyway.





	Pīhoihoi

“You listening, Aquaman?”

Danny is staring, waiting for the answer to a question unheard by the brunet, blue eyes tearing from the waves to fix on the blond, Steve shaking his head sharply to try and make himself pay attention and recall what was said. When it becomes clear he didn’t hear, Danny sighs, inching closer and lowering his voice, tone soft and comforting.

“We don’t have to go. You wanna stay, I’ll stay with you. We can go back to your place, get some Longboards, just… watch a game or something. Hu? Say the word. I’ll back your play.”

He almost thanks him. Almost, because Danny probably doesn’t need the words. He can probably see the relief, the way the knot in the taller man’s stomach slowly starts to relax. He lets Danny lead him further from the water, listens as he thanks the gang, explaining that he’s not feeling up to it and needs Steve to drive him home. If they doubt it… they don’t mention it. They wish the pair well, and bound off to the boat, Tani laughing as Junior bumps her.

In the car, Danny takes the driver’s seat. Steve knows it’s a tell… that if Danny doubted his reservation, he now knows and also that it’s more than that. He drives them to Steve’s and lets them in, noting how Steve silently (still- he’s been silent since they arrived at the marina) moves to sit, settling on the coffee table while Eddie wanders down the stairs, tail whipping as he spots his master, settling between his feet and offering his head for scratches. Steve complies, staring into the void, lost in his own thoughts, and he’s so fucking glad Danny can’t read his mind.

He doesn’t want Danny to see the horrors he imagined, that he keeps imagining. He doesn’t want him to know how he saw Wo-Fat, or feel the crushing pressure of drowning, like he’d imagined he had, before they pulled him out. He doesn’t know how to articulate the fear, and how now… being close to something that once brought him so much joy fills him with a terror he’d never know he could feel. Even if part of him is sure Danny can sense it. That’s the thing about Danny- he knows Steve. He knows his micro expressions and the way he handles things, and even if he won’t… or can’t… explain? He probably doesn’t need to for Danny to understand.

It’s demonstrated, honestly… often. Most recently just now, at the marina, when he saw and adapted to Steve’s hesitation. He knew to get Steve away from the water, and somewhere he feels safe- home. So why is he still struggling for air, perched there? Why is Eddie’s presence not soothing him? PTSD isn’t a new concept, less even still to the former SEAL. He’s battled it for years- it’s impossible to do and see what he has and leave unmarred by the horror. It could be that it’s new- newer triggers are harder to combat. Whatever it is… he’s unsteady and Danny re-emerging makes him start… but also comforts him.

A small smile from the detective disarms him, watching as he comes closer, noting the slow and measured steps, the concern in bright blue hues as Danny sinks opposite him, on the couch. He reaches to touch a knee and Steve covers the hand with his own, watching Danny’s chest rise and fall, mirroring it with his own breaths until he’s breathing normally. It’s mild. He’s slowly getting it. The first time he’d neared water after his rescue… he’d shut down. Junior had found him, shaking and locked up, and led him home, saying nothing because he recognized the look.  If a quick heart and racing head, the loss of breath… is all he’s dealing with now, he can learn to manage it. He will. He’s done it in the past, with things like flying, with the sounds of gunshots and the feeling of hot metal pelting a bulletproof vest.

He moves his hand to Danny’s wrist, the other man allowing it, saying nothing as slowly, but surely- he inches closer until his forehead rests on his partner’s shoulder, his senses assaulted by the entirety of Danny Williams. He lets the scent of his partner’s minty body wash flood his nose, mixed with the cologne Grace gave them both at Christmas, and the lingering notes of cheap laundry detergent. His ears fix on the steady breathing of the blond, only distracted by his heart beat. His skin prickles as he registers the feel of Danny’s under his hands, which are both gripping the smaller male’s forearms, and it brings him back. He lets up when Danny retracts one arm, moving it to rest his hand on the back of Steve’s head, and he can see that tattoos on his skin dancing over his eyelids.

Danny is an anchor. He’s something that never fails to bring Steve back. They’ve grown so dependent and so careful, so synchronized that nothing else matters in moments like this, but reaffirming the connection. Reminding himself that he’s not alone- and that with Danny… if no one else… he’s safe. He’s wanted and loved and steady. His voice shakes as he offers, words a whisper against the curve of an artfully stubbled chin.

“Thank you, partner.”


End file.
